


Raindrops on Porthos & Whiskers on Kittens

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cats, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3689631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis isn’t one for being dramatic.  Of course not.  No matter what Porthos says, Aramis is always straight-forward and by no means unnecessarily dramatic.  </p><p>That being said… the day Aramis’ life irrevocably and completely comes to an end is today: the day Porthos brings home a kitten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raindrops on Porthos & Whiskers on Kittens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jlarinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jlarinda/gifts).



> ~~The worst title for a fic in existence, christ. Anyway.~~
> 
> So the last few fics I've written have all been debbie downers, so time for something utterly stupid. Originally from a prompt from JL, and also dedicated to her cause earlier this week everything sucked so hopefully this can cheer her up a bit. u_u

Aramis isn’t one for being dramatic. Of course not. No matter what Porthos says, Aramis is always straight-forward and by no means unnecessarily dramatic. 

That being said… the day Aramis’ life irrevocably and completely comes to an end is today. Today is the day Porthos walks in after a rainy day at work in October, dripping wet and looking so unspeakably handsome that it actually, quite literally, steals Aramis’ breath away. But the happiness is fleeting. 

Up until this point, his life has been wonderful. Perhaps some hardships here and there, but overall a life he’s found worth living. Today in particular had been a wonderful day for Aramis up until this point. He’d been able to sleep in – lounging in a waylaid sunbeam warming his body but not lighting on his face (a temporary burst of sunshine before the clouds inevitably rolled in), the covers curled up around him and Porthos’ heavy arm resting over his stomach, petting over his hip in just the right way to make him shiver. He’d enjoyed a delicious breakfast prepared by Porthos after Porthos finally managed to drag himself out of bed and away from Aramis’ sleep-warmed kisses. He’d then spent the afternoon with Anne and their son, visiting them both – kissing Anne under the umbrella as they walked their son home from school, hand in hand, her smiling at him in that quiet, dimpling way of hers that he absolutely adores. And then he’d come home to wait for Porthos to get off work so they could have dinner together and then they’d spend a ridiculous amount of time in bed together before falling asleep. By all means, the perfect day for Aramis. 

And then Porthos walks in holding a shivering, dripping bundle of _tiny kitten_ and Aramis’ world comes crashing down in the worst possible way. 

_The worst possible way._

“What on earth is _that_?” Aramis says, as if it isn’t obvious that his boyfriend is holding an emaciated, mangy cat. Or perhaps just looking so because it’s drenched to the bone. It’s even shivering. Aramis feels his hackles go up. 

“It’s a cat,” Porthos says, and his eyebrows lift in a way that wordlessly acknowledges that Aramis is an idiot asking stupid questions. Those eyebrows confirm that, yes, it’s a cat but that’s hardly the point of all this. 

The little thing is shivering in Porthos’ large hands, its ears bent back, its wide yellow eyes staring straight at Aramis, it’s grey and black fur matted and drenched. It’s _ugly_ and Aramis hates it. 

“I don’t –” begins Aramis.

But Porthos cuts him off in a rush, “I know you’re allergic. I’ll keep her in the other room—” and wonderful, it’s a girl cat, Aramis thinks bitterly, “—and you won’t have to deal with her.” 

“Why is it here?” Aramis asks – or more like whines, okay, he’s definitely whining but it’s hardly his _fault_ when his perfect, wonderful boyfriend of ten years has now completely ruined his life. 

“Oh, hush,” Porthos sighs out, not sounding nearly as annoyed as he very well could be and sounds more exasperated than anything else. “It was raining and look at how tiny she is.” He holds her up as if to demonstrate just how tiny she is, as if most things wouldn’t look dwarfed in Porthos’ large hands. “She was meowing and all curled up and then she looked at me and…” 

“She,” Aramis mimics, all but dead-pans it. 

Porthos holds the kitten a little closer to his chest and he frowns at Aramis, clearly disappointed in his reaction but not surprised. It almost makes Aramis blush with shame. Almost. Porthos says, “I’ll bring her to a shelter in the morning. But she was out there and cold and what was I supposed to do, Aramis?”

Aramis considers suggesting dumping her in a puddle, but he knows saying that would mean that sex is right out the window for the evening. 

And, in the end, he knows Porthos – and knows that Porthos would hardly leave any animal cold and shivering if he could help it. Still, they hardly have a litter box or food and Aramis _will_ burn the entire apartment to the ground if he finds a random turd somewhere it isn’t supposed to be. 

“So long as you don’t think we’re keeping it…” Aramis hedges, and crosses his arms, and most certainly does _not_ pout as Porthos carefully carries the kitten over to their kitchen counter and just _sets it down there like it’s nothing_ as he fetches a towel, drying her off. The cat seems to protest the treatment and squirms away, its ears bent back. Aramis isn’t one for dramatics, but he is fully prepared to throw the cat out the window if it actually does bite Porthos. Porthos’ smile is downright _ridiculous_ , and god he’s already attached to it and in love because that’s just how Porthos is. 

Aramis foresees this being a problem. 

“I know, I know,” Porthos sighs, watching the kitten as it retreats to a corner, its nose twitching as it takes in the new smells. “I’ll bring her to the shelter tomorrow. She’ll get picked up quickly enough – the little ones like this always do.”

“If we go there, you’ll just want to adopt all the bigger, older cats. The ones that are fat and piss everywhere,” Aramis whines because, again, that is how Porthos _is_ : loving and caring, and utterly ridiculous and charmed by cute things. Aramis was supposed to be his cute thing, though, not a cat. 

Porthos shrugs, not even denying it – and God, Aramis really will have to put his foot down if Porthos sweeps in here with an old cat that wants to pee on all his pretty furniture. 

“Dunno,” Porthos admits and he’s smiling a little at the damn kitten cleaning itself like that’s an accomplishment that it’s licking itself. Aramis could lick himself and Porthos would hardly smile that fondly at him for it. He might smile a little, though. And then laugh at him. Porthos continues: “Guess I can’t help it. Kind of want to bring home any of them that don’t have a place to go. Want them to feel wanted.” 

Aramis’ mouth twists up for a moment and his heart thuds. He sighs, shoulders slumping, and he goes over to where Porthos stands. He curls his arms around his waist lightly and rests his cheek against the back of his shoulder, hugging him and pressing up to him.

“You’re making yourself a parallel to the absolute worst animal in the world and it’s inaccurate,” Aramis sighs out, rubbing small circles with his thumbs over Porthos’ stomach. “And you can’t go and say things like that. It makes me want to go out there and hunt down anyone who didn’t want you. Get my revenge.” 

Porthos actually laughs, a soft puff of breath, and one hand covers Aramis’, his own thumb tracing along Aramis’ knuckles. “Well, I have you, don’t I?” 

“Yes,” Aramis says, primly, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have something to say to all of those out there with their terrible, terrible taste.” 

Porthos lifts up Aramis’ hand and kisses the back of it. Aramis smiles a little and tucks his chin up against Porthos’ shoulder so he can get a look at his expression. His soft-hearted, wonderful fool is looking down in a failed attempt to hide his misty eyes. Aramis feels a flood of affection for him and can’t even begrudge him for bringing in satan incarnate into their home. He noses against Porthos’ jaw until Porthos obliges him and turns his head, kissing him gently. 

“Surprised you haven’t started sneezing yet,” Porthos says once he pulls back, and there’s an apology in his tone. He glances over at the kitten which is looking around, moving along the counter, and _God, that’s where they make their food_. 

“Ah, yes, about that…” Aramis begins, pulling back and his mouth twisting up a bit as he thinks out his next words. “There’s a possibility that I might have exaggerated the extent of my allergy.”

“You? Exaggerate?” Porthos is definitely mocking now, his tone purposefully light as he moves away from the heavier topic of conversation hovering between them. He’s moving back towards the kitten and picking it up before it can move into the sink and start licking at dirty plates. “Aramis, you _never_ exaggerate in any way.” 

“Yes, you’re hilarious,” Aramis tuts and leans his hip back against the counter, his insides clawing as he watches Porthos pick up the squirming little thing and hold it in the palm of his hand like it’s easy, his touch gentle and unbearably nurturing. 

“I kind of always knew you were exaggerating a little,” Porthos admits. “You told me that being in the same room as a cat would make your head explode.” 

Aramis sniffs. “Well…”

“And break out into hives. And whine loudly. Which you do anyway, by the way.” 

“I’m not actually allergic,” Aramis admits. “At all.” 

Porthos, for his part, just looks amused – which is just as well because Aramis isn’t quite prepared to have to deal with a betrayed Porthos. Then again, for the most part Porthos regards him with a sense of amusement and fondness in all things he does, unless he does something particularly heinous. As it stands, he’s just looking at Aramis now like he isn’t quite sure what to make of that statement, but is waiting patiently for the punch line of the joke. 

“I just don’t like cats. At all,” he continues as Porthos waits patiently for the explanation. Porthos looks like he’s going to burst out into disbelieving laughter so Aramis just powers on, “It’s just easier to say I’m allergic so no one tries to make me interact with one.” 

Now Porthos is looking at him with that ridiculously fond look of his – the kind of look he makes when he thinks Aramis is being cute, but incredibly stupid. 

“Aramis…” he begins.

“I know, I know,” Aramis sighs and leans back against the counter as Porthos sets the kitten down on the floor and approaches Aramis. 

His hands fall to Aramis’ hips, thumbs tracing along the jut of his hipbone and Aramis feels the flush of affection in his chest flow steadily downward, almost instantly. He tips his chin forward and Porthos smiles at him, that lopsided halfway smile he does that always makes Aramis’ belly twist up happily. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Porthos says. “And now I feel less bad about the cat staying here for the night.”

“You’re subjecting me to a creature I hate,” Aramis whines. “The least you can do is distract me.” 

“Hmmm,” Porthos hums out, pretending to think when it’s clear where this is leading. 

“And it’s alright,” Aramis mutters, “So long as it’s just for the night.” 

 

-

 

Two days later, and the hell-beast is still in his apartment. 

Aramis likes to think of himself as a reasonable person, not begrudging. But clearly God and the universe is conspiring to make him as upset as possible and they’ve forsaken him forever and he is alone in the world. 

The hell-beast is trying to steal Porthos away, little claw by little claw. The universe has conspired to keep the damn creature in his home. Aramis refuses to go to the shelter alone and he refuses to let Porthos go on his own because he really _would_ come back with a twenty-six pound, drooling, three-legged cat that he thinks is adorable. They haven’t been able to make the trip together because yesterday they both had work and today Aramis was spending the day with Anne and their son. 

When he returns from his perfectly wonderful, perfectly cat-free day with his son, Porthos is sitting on the couch. 

And the hell-beast is there. 

It’s sitting in Porthos’ lap – and that’s meant to be _Aramis’_ lap – sitting and purring away, mocking Aramis. He almost has half a mind to shove the thing off and kneel down between Porthos’ legs and remind the man just _who_ belongs best in his lap. But he knows that Porthos will squawk indignantly about shoving the precious little kitten and so he just sits down beside him and _doesn’t_ pout. 

Porthos might be charmed by the little thing – even went out after work and bought a small litter box and a little bag of food, since it seems the thing is going to be a more semi-permanent fixture in their apartment. But Aramis is far from charmed. He’s seen the thing watching him. He’s seen it scratch at his very lovely couch. He’s seen it twitch its mangy little tail and he’s certainly felt it attacking his ankles in a way that leaves Porthos actually _cooing_. 

Porthos has even had the audacity to try to cup Aramis’ cheek _right after the thing was nibbling and licking at his fingers._ That is supposed to be Aramis’ job, and he’d vehemently told Porthos that he wasn’t allowed to touch him after the hell-beast was trying to eat him. 

Instead of being offended, Porthos had only rolled his eyes and grabbed him by a lock of his hair with his other hand, dragging him in for a searing kiss. Which, alright, Aramis wasn’t opposed to. But his point still stands. He does a damn good job of licking and biting at Porthos’ fingers. He hardly needs a cat to do that for him. 

So he sits beside Porthos and doesn’t pout as Porthos pets the cat. He’s certainly not jealous of a hell-beast that will, ultimately, be brought to the shelter. He’s at least counting his lucky stars that Porthos hasn’t gotten around to naming the thing – otherwise they really would be in trouble. 

Porthos is looking at him, though, overly fond, and Aramis tries to screw his face back into something more neutral and less petulant than a pout he certainly isn’t doing. 

“You’re pouting,” Porthos points out, quite rudely and unnecessarily Aramis thinks. 

“I am not,” he whines. The cat flippantly demonstrates its victory over Aramis, mocking him, by kneading into Porthos’ thighs. _He_ should be the one kneading into his thighs. 

Porthos reaches out and brushes the hair back from Aramis’ face, fingers tracing down along his cheek in a way that shouldn’t be soothing and endearing and yet lets Aramis slump on the spot. Porthos’ smile is soft on him. 

“You know I don’t love her more than you, right?” Porthos asks, which is an utterly ridiculous thing to say because of _course_ Aramis knows that, how rude to imply otherwise – and still he feels some tension ease from his shoulders. 

Porthos leans in to kiss him. Aramis sighs out and melts against him, lifting his hands to cup Porthos’ cheeks and keep him close, kissing him slow and deep. Porthos shifts closer, and Aramis smiles to himself when the movement jostles the cat and it goes wandering away. Porthos pushes Aramis onto his back and presses down against him and they make out on the couch in a way that, really, Aramis has zero complaints about. 

 

-

 

It’s two days after that and Aramis is starting to dread just how temporary this cat is going to be. Still they haven’t been able to coordinate their schedules enough to get down to the shelter together – but every time he’s in the house with Porthos, Porthos is holding the cat or petting it or feeding it or gushing at it. And Porthos is extremely lucky that Aramis loves him as much as he does. 

“I want you to know,” Aramis says, grim as he can manage. “That Anne would never bring home a cat like this.” 

Porthos grins at him. “That’s because she’s taking care of a kid.” He kisses the tip of Aramis’ nose and adds, “Should I tell her she’s actually taking care of _two_ toddlers?” 

“I don’t like your implication,” Aramis says with a pout and ignores Porthos’ shit-eating grin that really shouldn’t be attractive – but then, he finds everything about Porthos attractive. 

“Also, I know you never compare any of the people you’re dating – and if you did, you’d be comparing them to me considering I’ve got the seniority going.” 

Aramis can’t even protest this – and privately thinks to himself that he should really find better and newer tactics since he’s been dating this big brute for ten years and known him for fifteen and there comes a point where Porthos knows him far too well and can’t be tricked anymore. Or at all. Or ever. 

“And you know that Anne would pick up a shivering kitten in the rain if she found one, don’t even pretend otherwise.” 

“ _Fine_ , you win,” Aramis whines. Porthos kisses him lightly, once, but Aramis is still pouting. 

Porthos tilts his head and nuzzles up against Aramis’ jaw. “She’d probably launch a campaign to find the poor thing a home as soon as she got home – posters and online ads and everything. Or she’d just adopt it herself.” 

“There is no way,” Aramis interrupts, horrified, “That she would let one of these horrible creatures anywhere near our son. Their claw marks get infected and they hiss and they spit and they’re—”

“Oh, relax, you ridiculous mother hen.” 

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” Aramis mutters, blushing up to his ears. 

Porthos, who’s been cuddling with kitty during this entire conversation, now sets her down gently and reaches for Aramis instead. 

“Come here, you ridiculous man,” Porthos whispers in that quiet way he does when he’s about to take Aramis’ mind off many, many things. 

Aramis can accept this. 

 

-

 

It’s been exactly one week and still the cat is here. 

Aramis reaches out and picks up the cat, setting her down on the floor before he straddles into Porthos’ lap himself, draping his arms over his shoulders with a triumphant little huff. Porthos grins up at him, hands falling to his hips and then stroking up under his shirt, fingers touching over his skin light enough to make him shiver. 

“Was wondering how long it’d take for you to do that,” Porthos admits and looks very pleased that it didn’t take long at all – as well he should, considering that Aramis is wonderful and he should always want him in his lap. 

“She’s had her turn – she should know by now that she can’t take what’s rightfully mine.” 

“What, my lap?” Porthos laughs and wriggles his hips a little in a way that _really_ shouldn’t be sexy. 

Aramis leans down and kisses Porthos’ face – his forehead and then each cheek and then finally his mouth, lingering close when Porthos hums out happily and leans up closer to him, deepening the kiss. 

“You called her ‘she’ rather than ‘it’,” Porthos says once he draws back from the kiss. Because of course he’d notice that.

Aramis sniffs. “One must always treat a lady well – even hellish ladies trying to steal my boyfriend’s heart.” He leans in closer to Porthos and can’t help but sound a bit huffy as he adds, “There’s no way she could.” 

Porthos is grinning and his smile actually looks a bit wobbly – and what a giant nerd his boyfriend is, to get emotional over Aramis’ jealousy for a cat. But then, that’s just how Porthos is. 

“Definitely no way,” Porthos agrees, and his voice has dropped down into something huskier. Porthos shivers. 

“I want you to know,” Aramis whispers against the shell of Porthos’ ear as he nuzzles in closer, shivers as Porthos’ fingers trace over his ribs, “I am _never_ going to change that litter box.” 

Porthos makes a soft sound, somewhere between a groan and a laugh. He pushes Aramis’ shirt up to his armpits and ducks his head, kissing over his chest as Aramis arches back. He tilts his head and catches the cat staring at them – which should really be a mood breaker, but then Aramis just removes Porthos’ belt and tosses it at her and she scurries away. 

“Does that mean we’re keeping her?” Porthos asks, and his voice is quiet and _hopeful_ , damn it. 

With Porthos’ hands on him as they are, with his lips brushing over his skin, it is incredibly hard for Aramis to think – and worse yet, even harder to refuse him. He sighs out, long-suffering. 

“I’ll think about it,” he says, which really means that Porthos won this argument days ago. 

 

-

 

These are the cons that Aramis has acquired about the potential of owning a cat:

1\. She is extremely needy but seems to only want Porthos to hold her; whenever Aramis actually tries, she squirms and is entirely impossible and claws at Aramis’ wrists in a way that looks entirely unappealing and makes Anne cluck at him in amusement when he tries to whine about it to her since Porthos has proven thoroughly unsympathetic.

2\. She likes to lick Porthos. He caught her licking his hair and Porthos utterly ignored him when he tried to inform Porthos that the cat was trying to eat him and how he _knew_ this would eventually happen. 

3\. The catbox smells.

4\. She scratches everything. Including himself. 

5\. She hogs the bed. Porthos has accepted that the cat will sleep in their bed, which Aramis has utterly, completely _not_ given the okay on. Mostly because she chooses the spot right in the center of it and Aramis can’t curl up into Porthos the way he would like, because Porthos is curled up around kitty. Sometimes she even sleeps on Porthos, or curled up against his neck. All of the places that Aramis likes to be curled up. It’s actually the worst. 

 

-

 

These are the pros to owning a cat as far as Aramis can see:

1\. It makes Porthos happy. 

That is all he can think of it, and when he rattles off this list to Porthos, he only smiles at Aramis in his large, dimpling way of his that makes Aramis’ insides feel funny, and suddenly his emphasis on how the cat _isn’t_ a good idea is lost in favor of Porthos demonstrating just how happy Aramis himself makes him. 

Which, yes, alright. Aramis isn’t about to complain. 

 

-

 

And that, in the end, is that. Aramis is prepared to let it go and accept his fate as cat-owner. 

With Aramis’ grudging blessing, Porthos goes out and buys two larger litter boxes, food bowls, large bags of food and litter, and so many cat toys it’s a wonder that they haven’t gone broke. The kitten is named and Porthos sets about playing with her every chance he gets, with little feathers on sticks and squeaking mouse toys. Watching him hunched over on the ground, grinning and petting the cat, he really _shouldn’t_ be sweet and charming, but it admittedly does melt Aramis’ heart to watch him look so happy.

Even if Aramis still mourns the fact that their home now smells like _cat_. 

But he’s willing, at least, to accept this. If Porthos is happy, then he can’t truly stay angry or too pouty, especially whenever Porthos makes a point to lavish him with attention whenever he senses him getting prickly. Aramis is more than alright with this, too. 

And then one day Porthos sighs and says, “Never thought I’d have two cats.”

Aramis sits up, alarmed. “ _What?_ ” 

“Mmm,” Porthos hums out, hand lifting to pet through Aramis’ hair while the other strokes Mousqueton (a name that Aramis still thinks is a stupid name for a cat, much less a lady cat) who sits happily in Porthos’ lap as she purrs. 

“Please don’t tell me you went and got another cat,” Aramis mutters darkly because he is willing to accept all manner of things when it comes to Porthos, but this might just be where he has to draw the line. He can accept Mousqueton because, despite all his efforts otherwise, he can admit she is kind of cute. 

“A big, old, jealous one,” Porthos sighs out. 

Mousqueton stretches underneath Porthos’ hand, her paws flexing before she kneads against Porthos’ thigh and curls up again in his lap. Porthos holds completely still as she does that, and looks so utterly enamored that Aramis has to lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth in order to garner some attention.

Porthos’ smile is light when he turns to him and kisses him as silently requested. “Very jealous.” 

Aramis isn’t an idiot and realizes what he’s doing. “If you’re calling me a cat,” Aramis mutters, “then I’m leaving.” 

Porthos sighs, dramatically, “A big old jealous one.”

“ _Old_?” Aramis squawks. “I’m five years younger than you are.” 

Porthos gives him that quirked expression of his, the kind that means he’s seconds away from laughing. “Funny how time works. Five years ago, you were only two years younger than me. And when I was sixteen, I could have sworn you were seventeen.” 

Aramis bites at Porthos’ lip to try to get the conversation derailed, but Porthos is too busy laughing to be suitably distracted. He’s really laughing now – one of his deep belly laughs that upsets Mousqueton and sends her off of his lap, disturbed from her slumber. She slinks away into the next room, huffy, her tail twitching. Porthos hardly notices, he’s too busy laughing and kissing Aramis through his pouts.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on my [tumblr](http://stardropdream.tumblr.com/), should you need me!


End file.
